


This is Hardcore

by someblazingstar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-22
Updated: 2009-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-03 13:58:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someblazingstar/pseuds/someblazingstar





	This is Hardcore

So, the thing is, Dean's easy. No, like, really easy. Sam knows it, Bobby knows it, hell, even Dean knows it. Which says something right there, since he's not only not exactly the king of self-analysis, but inherently suspicious of anyone he does suspect of being a little too self-aware. He practically flipped out on Sam the one time he spent all of an hour talking to a psychiatrist, after all, and that was technically for a case, for God's sake.

But anyway. Dean: Easy. This works for Dean just fine, because girls can sense it about him, too, which tends to lure the ones who are also easy in like a beacon with bedroom eyes and a lazy smile. Dean has such a ridiculously easy time getting laid that it's like he sees bars as some kind of bizarre sex vending machine: Put in a little cash by buying a girl a drink, push a button or two, get some pussy. Just as simple as that.

(Sam once expressed this theory to Dean, while they were both ragingly drunk - in their motel room, not at a bar - and Dean had responded that dude, it would be awesome if they really did have sex vending machines. "Like, put in a twenty and out comes a blow-up doll, man, or maybe one of those pocket pussies." Sam had replied that Dean was gross, and also that they probably did have exactly such a thing in Japan, because Japanese people are insane. Dean had actually looked like he was considering this for a minute, before boldly stating that being stuck on a plane for that long wouldn't be worth it. That's Dean for you.)

So it's kind of a shock when Dean comes stumbling in the door of their crappy motel room at retarded o'clock in the morning, stinking drunk in a way that makes Sam really, really hope that he didn't drive back (but of course he did - Sam has to admit that neither of them are exactly MADD poster boys, and god, if hunting doesn't kill them, they'll probably end up dying the world's most ironic deaths by celebrating after finishing up a case or averting the Apocalypse or whatever and then crashing into a light post because they just couldn't call a damn cab) and almost knocks the lamp over trying to turn it on. Then he starts bitching about how the skank-a-licious-looking girl he'd vanished off with totally blew him off once they got to her place.

"She said it was that time of the month, but she wouldn't even blow me, can you believe that? She just wanted to make out. Girls, I swear." Dean smiles in a way that he probably thinks is sexy but actually looks really creepy. "Not like I care about that, anyway. Girls get so hot if they're bleeding and you'll fuck 'em anyway, oh man."

"Dean, ugh, I was trying to sleep," Sam says in his most well-worn _I can't believe I'm related to you_ tone of voice, pulling the lumpy single pillow on his bed over his eyes.

"Screw you, you don't get to sleep when I've got blue balls! If I'm going to suffer, you can, too."

"Dean, you know blue balls are just a myth, right? I mean, I'm sure that line worked great for you in high school, but you're talking to me, here."

"Aww, what would you know, I'm surprised your dick hasn't dropped off from lack of use, yet. Like you even remember what it's like to be all worked up and not be able to do anything about it."

"Pretty sure that's what your hand is for, dude. And I know you know how to use it, since I'm always having to listen to you three feet away from me. You're not as quiet as you think you are."

"Who says I'm trying to be quiet?" Dean smirks. "I just don't care if your lame ass hears me. Listening to me getting off is probably the most action you've gotten all year," he says, and yeah, fine, it's true. Although Dean is seriously mistaken if he thinks that overhearing your stupid brother whacking off to shitty porn mags is any kind of a decent substitute for actual sex.

"Anyway, it's not the same. That girl's tits were out of _control_, just perfectly shaped, and I didn't even get to touch 'em. It's a shame, Sammy, it really is. I mean, who could pass this up?"

Sam can't even answer that without laughing, so he doesn't try. Although, what, maybe he has a bit of a point, under the usual explosive egotism. Because, okay, fine, Dean is…attractive. Not bad looking. Hot, Sam guesses, if you're into that, the kind of in-your-face swagger and sexuality he puts off when he's trying to get laid. Dean wouldn't know subtlety if it smacked him in the face, but Sam supposes some people like that.

But, although he knows about the part of Dean that lurks beneath the brash face he puts on for girls, no one else gets to see that. Sam wonders if Dean would be more popular or less if he ever let anyone but Sam know the real him, let even one tequila-downing barfly see where he's vulnerable and doubting and so lonely Sam aches a little for him sometimes.

Then Dean belches, throwing Sam right out of his little moment of _awww, Dean_, and he can't help but throw his head back and laugh. "With class like that, I'm shocked half the bar wasn't lining up for a turn," he says.

"Mmmm…that would be _awesome_," Dean says, grinning slow, and, okay, that's kind of sexy, right there. He gets a flash of Dean, in some low-lit bar, surrounded by grasping hands, whole horde of girls panting for him, fighting and rubbing up on him, hell, maybe a couple of guys, too, everyone just gagging for a piece, Dean squirming under all their hands, turning his head to kiss mouth after mouth, and Christ, that's kind of hot, too. "Next time you get a fit of the guilts over hustling pool and poker, we can start a kissing booth for cash, pretend it's for charity, what do you say? 'Cept the kind of kissing I'd want to be doing wouldn't be suitable for doing in public, heh," Dean continues.

"Dean, you're disgusting. You realize that's prostitution?"

Dean shrugs. "Might as well get paid to do what I already do for free," he says.

Sam chucks his pillow at him.

"Prude," Dean says.

"Slut," Sam replies.

"I'm not a slut, I didn't even get laid tonight," Dean says. "If I were really a slut, I would have gone back for another try, not come home to you."

"Gee, thanks," Sam says, and then starts to regret throwing his pillow over when he realises that Dean is not only not giving it back, he's got it over his lap, and is…moving, a bit. "Are you humping my pillow?" he asks, horrified.

"What am I supposed to do, Sam? I'm horny."

"Just jerk off already. But give that back first, I'm not sleeping with a wad of your jizz in my ear," Sam says.

"Not with you sitting right there!" Dean whines, and he tosses the pillow over so it lands neatly on Sam's crotch. Sam starts to lift it up to his head before remembering that duh, this thing was just getting comfy with his brother's junk, through his jeans or not, and lowers it back down to the end of the bed.

"Thought you said you didn't care if I could hear?"

"Usually when I do it you're lying over there and I can figure you're probably asleep. Right now I'd _know_ you were listening."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Okay, look, here, I'm going to turn my back, you see?" he says, rolling over onto his side, facing away from Dean. "I'll even cover my ears. I'm probably just going to fall asleep in a minute or two anyway."

"Damnit, Sam, I don't want to," Dean says, but Sam can tell by the edge in his voice that he's feeling so damned desperate right now that he's probably going to do it anyway, once he can convince himself that Sam's really not paying attention. Sam squeezes his eyes shut tight, even though there's nothing to look at but the ugly floral wallpaper, and holds the pillow folded over his head like the world's most awkward earmuffs. He's tired, he tells himself, it's late and he was already exhausted when he crashed into bed. Surely he can drop off and not have to listen to--

Dean makes a breathy, choked-off little noise, and Sam immediately knows that a) this pillow is completely useless as a sound-dampening device, and b) there's no way, no way in hell, that he is going to be able to sleep through this.

Sam bites his lip as another tiny gasp comes from Dean's side of the room. He can tell Dean is trying to be quiet, that his usually-shameless brother is trying to maintain some small hint of modesty, but his ears are straining so hard to hear, completely against his will, that every little sound echoes through him. It's weird, because it's not like he has never heard this before - what he was telling Dean was completely true. It's just that this time, this time, it's…getting to him, alright, and he doesn't even know why. He has to focus, keep his eyes closed tight, to make sure his breathing stays even enough to not tip Dean off. Dean makes enough jokes about him being a loser already, and he definitely doesn't need to be finding out that Sam's getting kind of hot and bothered listening to him touching himself - that would be torment-fuel for the rest of their _lives_.

He can hear Dean getting more into it, making less of an effort to keep it down as he keeps going. There's a pause, and then Sam's hands tighten around the pillow at the slick-squelch sound of Dean's hand working his cock; he must have dug up some lotion, from his bag by the bed or maybe one of those little complimentary bottles, if this motel has them.

"Mmmm, oh, oh," Dean breathes, the wet sound of skin on skin getting louder, more urgent, and he's got to be close, so worked up. "Sssss…ah. Ah, goddamnit," he whimpers.

Sam's wincing at the sounds now, knows Dean's got to almost be in pain with it, fast punishing pulls echoing angrily through the room. "Damnit, damn--"

"Dean?" Sam says, the name spilling out before he can stop himself.

"Can't come," Dean rasps. "I really, really want to, too. Oh, God," and the noises are even faster for a few seconds before stopping completely.

Sam turns, then. Sits up and plants his feet on the floor. Dean's eyes on him are huge, probably as wide as his own, raking up and down Dean's naked body, his hard cock jutting through the circle of his hand.

Sam's knees hit the other mattress, on either side of Dean's hips, and that cock is in his hand a second later. _What the fuck?_, he thinks to himself, but he can't stop looking at Dean's glazed, hooded eyes, the wet shine of Dean's open mouth.

"Sam?" Dean whispers.

Sam drags his thumb over the messy head of his cock, and Dean's eyes roll back. "Let me get you there," he hears himself saying, voice low, and Dean's hips jerk up from the bed.

This is insane, of course. He doesn't even have the excuse of being drunk, like Dean. But he watches his brother's face as he touches him in smooth, even strokes, the raw pink flush high on his cheekbones that brings out the smatter of freckles there, the way his brows knit together, the sooty fall of his eyelashes, the plump swell of his lower lip as he licks and gnaws at it, and Sam feels shaken with lust. He's so focused on Dean that he's kind of shocked when Dean moans, brokenly, fingers digging into the coverlet, and his own cock jerks in response in his boxers.

"You getting close?" Sam says, picking up the pace, dropping his other hand to roll Dean's balls in his fingers the way he likes himself. Dean just gasps and nods, legs hitching up to give Sam better access.

Sam's humping Dean's leg now, like a fucking dog, and that's the embarrassing part - not just that he's evidently hot for his brother, not just that he's stone-sober and doing this anyway, but that's he's so turned-on and desperate like this for it. Dean doesn't seem to think so, though, not in his current addled state at least, and one of his hands comes up off the bed to press against the bulge of Sam's cock through his boxers. "Pull it out," he pants, and Sam's hands are shaking as he drops Dean's cock like it's on fire in his haste to yank his shorts down, freed cock slapping up against his belly.

Dean grabs his own cock again, squeezing hard as he stares up at Sam. "Oh shit, Sammy," he mutters, and the flush on his face is spreading down his body as he humps up into his grip. "Look at you, you're so--"

Sam doesn't get to find out what Dean thinks he is, because that's when Dean comes, head rearing back until it smacks the headboard with a sound that makes Sam cringe, almost drowned out by the low cry he makes.

Sam watches him come down, breath slowing back to something like normal. "You okay?" he finally says.

"Ow," Dean replies. His head comes back up, one hand rubbing absently at the back, and he's staring again, eyes darting between Sam's face and his cock. "Are you gonna?"

"Gonna?"

"You know," Dean says, making the universal jerking-off motion with his hand.

And Sam's torn, because his cock is throbbing, he's so fucking hard, but at the same time, seriously? It's one thing to get your brother off when he's drunk and horny and being a whiny bitch about it - he could easily argue that he did it just to get Dean to shut up and go to sleep - but kind of something else to get yourself off on him, too. Hell, he can calm himself down, maybe get himself off in the shower after Dean passes out, and he starts to get up off him.

Dean's hand grabs his thigh. "Nuh-uh," he says. "Not fair for you to watch me and not return the favour, bitch."

"Life isn't fair, Dean, didn't _Labyrinth_ teach you anything?"

"Taught me David Bowie in tights is hot," Dean says, and Sam can't help but raise his eyebrows at that. Then he's arching back, because Dean's scooting down the bed, and Sam gets the barest instant to think, _oh, shit, he's not really gonna--_ before Dean sucks the head of his cock into his mouth.

Dean's clearly not very experienced at this, which is kind of a good thing, because for some reason the image of Dean on his knees for some bearded, trucker-hatted dude in a filthy bathroom somewhere pops into his mind and he feels just a twinge of nausea at the very thought. His mouth is wet, though, those obscene lips pursed around him, and he's trying, only choking a little as he takes too much in and then backs up. He pulls almost all the way off, just letting the tip of Sam's cock slide slick and dirty over his mouth, rubbing and licking like he can't get enough of the taste, and fuck, that's hot. If Dean hadn't just come, Sam would almost think he's getting _off_ on this, and shit, shit, that's too--

"Dean, quit it, I'm gonna," he says, feeling it build to where he couldn't stop it if he wanted to, hand carding through Dean's hair to try to nudge him off. Dean doesn't stop, though, keeps lapping his tongue in little flicks across the ridge just under the head, eyes open and searing up into his, and that's it, that's just _it_, and Sam comes. Comes in Dean's mouth, feeling Dean sucking and swallowing frantically around him, pulls back to let the last pulses spurt in wet globs across Dean's lips and down his chin, because really, look at him, who wouldn't?

Dean falls back against the bed, and Sam follows, curled over his body as he breathes deep, air full of the musk and spice of their sweat and come.

"Ugh, get off me, you dirty fucker," Dean complains after a few minutes, and Sam laughs, rolling over but not getting off Dean's bed.

"You started it, slut," Sam says, yanking the covers out to cover them both and pulling Dean's body back against him. Dean only puts up a token protest before he gives in and settles back against Sam's chest.

"Did not, prude."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Go to sleep, asshole," Sam says, and after a minute, they do.


End file.
